


The First Snowflake

by OneBlueUmbrella (bigblueboxat221b)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Party, M/M, POV Greg, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/OneBlueUmbrella
Summary: Despite his best effort, someone's noticed Greg isn't at the Christmas Eve party.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 24
Kudos: 204
Collections: Mystrade Holiday 2020





	The First Snowflake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lavender_and_Vanilla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/gifts).



The music was loud, but he could hardly complain. Greg frowned, spinning sideways in his chair as the strains of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’ drifted up to his desk from the second floor under his feet. Surely he wasn’t old enough to be the grumpy boss, yet here he sat, a beer the only acknowledgement that he wasn’t actually on the clock tonight. A few times he’d stuck his head out, but the sight of so many young colleagues was somehow depressing.

_If I was behind the bar, I’d card most of ‘em._

_Christ, I am getting old._

The last time, Greg flashed a smile, chatting to a few people before he grabbed a beer and pretended he’d missed a call. If he kept his light off it was unlikely anyone would disturb him. The crew on duty tonight were based out of the ground floor, and nobody from this floor was working.

It was as close to not attending as his conscience would allow.

The beer was almost gone by the time Greg heard carefully measured footsteps approach then pause outside his door. He braced for his boss – last seen roaring at a joke at the party downstairs – to insist he join the festivities.

“Detective Inspector,” came an unexpected voice.

Greg spun, blinking a couple of times before he registered who was standing there. “Mycroft,” he said dumbly. When his brain kicked into gear again he sat up, setting his bottle on the table. “What are you doing here?”

Mycroft hesitated. His face was cast in shadow, and Greg wished he could read his expression, or as much of it as there ever was. The question was clear though, so Greg just waited as Mycroft found the right word to craft a careful lie, or possibly even the truth.

“I wondered why you were here,” Mycroft said, and there was a sense of carefully edited truth to his words.

“Here in my office, or here at work?” Greg asked.

“At work,” Mycroft replied. “When you are not working.”

Greg blinked again. “How did you know I’m not working?”

Mycroft shrugged, but there was no clue from his darkened face. Greg frowned, considering Mycroft’s original question. _Why am I here?_ “I have no idea,” he replied with a rush of relief at the admission. “Probably should head home, really.”

“I could accompany you, if you wish,” Mycroft said as Greg stood up and grabbed his coat.

Greg felt his fingers slow, then return to normal speed as he fastened the buttons and settled his scarf. “Sure,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “Should get home right around midnight.”

Mycroft nodded but didn’t speak, following Greg out of the building. Greg had grabbed a couple of candy canes from the bowl by the door, bracing to explain it with anything but the truth.

_Trying to get rid of beer breath. Christ, why am I nervous?_

“Can’t believe it hasn’t snowed yet,” Greg offered. The air was still biting but the ground remained resolutely clear, despite the tantalisingly heavy cloud cover. Even so, he winced at the terrible conversation starter.

“You would prefer a snowy beginning to Christmas?” Mycroft asked.

It was easier to see his face now, the streetlights enough to show his eyes on Greg’s.

“Hadn’t really thought about it,” Greg said. “Suppose it’s just weird. Having most of December with no snow, and now it looks like we’ll get past the gate without it.” He didn’t check his watch, but there were only maybe fifteen minutes until midnight.

“Twelve,” Mycroft murmured.

“What?” Greg asked.

“Twelve minutes until midnight,” Mycroft said.

Greg nodded, then allowed the question that often rose when he was on the end of deductions. “How did you know?”

Mycroft opened his mouth as if to answer, but closed it again. They’d walked another dozen steps before he spoke. “I watch you,” he said quietly.

The bald honesty was not at all what Greg had been expecting to hear. “You watch me?” he repeated.

Mycroft nodded, indicating with one arm they might turn off road into a small park. It was somewhat like a story book, just a few trees with a path coming from adjacent streets to meet at a lamppost in the centre. A circle of golden light warmed the scene.

Greg followed him, feeling the atmosphere around them change. The trees were not particularly tall, but they blocked enough of the already quiet streets to make it feel as though they’d stepped through time into the middle of nowhere.

When Mycroft stopped near the lamppost, Greg slowed too. There was clearly something on his mind, and at this point, the light cast at enough of an angle to light both their faces.

_He wants to be able to see my face._

“I came to find you this evening for a reason,” Mycroft said, his words sounding carefully rehearsed.

“Okay,” Greg replied. Why was his heart beating faster? For all his scrutiny, Mycroft’s face remained inscrutable to Greg.

“The year has been long,” Mycroft continued, and Greg bit back a smile as he leaned in to speak.

“Maybe,” Greg said quietly, as Mycroft launched into what felt like the beginning of a very long speech, “you could just tell me why you needed to see me tonight.”

Mycroft nodded, his mouth clamping shut over the rest of his words. He drew a deep breath and to Greg’s astonishment stepped closer. Their breath mingled in the air between them. _Why is that so intimate?_

“In summary,” Mycroft said, his words quiet and clear, “I wanted to start next year without the shadows of uncertainty hanging over me.” He reached out, brushing something from Greg’s shoulder and allowing his hand to linger, running down Greg’s arm until his fingers tangled in Greg’s when they reached his hand.

Greg’s heart was in overdrive and he wondered if his faster breathing was visible as the condensation hung between their lips.

_Mycroft’s lips. Jesus._

“I would very much like to kiss you as the New Year begins,” Mycroft said, the terror in his eyes pushed aside enough by his courage to allow Greg to read both emotions. “Yet I found myself unable to wait a further week.”

“How long?” Greg asked, his own voice sounding strangled.

“Years,” Mycroft replied.

“Oh,” Greg breathed, his fingers tightening over Mycroft’s. “No, I meant how many minutes until...”

As the last of his words trailed off, Greg heard a quiet alarm coming from Mycroft’s wristwatch. _Did he set that especially?_

“None,” Mycroft replied. He turned off the alarm with his free hand, eyes never leaving Greg’s.

“Merry Christmas,” Greg murmured.

“Merry Christmas,” Mycroft replied without moving.

Swallowing, Greg allowed himself to sway closer, savouring the widening of Mycroft’s eyes as he realised what Greg was about to do. It lasted only a second as Mycroft closed the rest of the gap and Greg’s skin exploded in a profusion of sensory fireworks.

Cold lips on his.

Tight fingers around his.

Warm breath over his cheek.

Faint bells from across the city were buried by the gasp, then groan as Greg responded to Mycroft, freeing his fingers to wrap arms around his waist. They swayed together in the tiny, private space in the middle of a sprawling city, and as the kiss broke and Greg smiled at Mycroft, the first snowflake of Christmas witnessed their blossoming joy.


End file.
